


Alternate Universe

by Ilthit



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M, Tropes, Yuletide, Yuletide 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:25:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2809034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilthit/pseuds/Ilthit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five tropes and AUs that they didn't do yet in Red Dwarf canon, and one they kind of did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alternate Universe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Davechicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/gifts).



_\- college_ -

So it was just a tiny polytechnic in an awful northern backwater. So what if it the only place in the universe where beehives and animal prints were still remotely acceptable? Arn had to hand that to Liverpool: when they found something they liked, they stuck with it.

He was focusing on the positive. This was only the beginning. He had his BSc., even if he'd had to cheat like an Italian to get it. He was a T.A., with a whole room of cowering undergrads to rule with an iron hand. God, look at that lot. Half of them were on their phones because they thought Intro to Computer Science was a piece of cake. Well, Arnold Rimmer was going to wipe the smiles off their smarmy little faces.

Arn grabbed the podium and imagined himself a modern-day Napoleon addressing his troops. (He only just stopped himself from going into a French accent.) “Good afternoon, everyone! We'll start with a quiz to find out how much you know. And yes, it will count towards your grade.”

“But you haven't taught us anything yet!” shouted a pile of stained rags with dreads from the back row.

Arn smiled a nasty smile. “Get used to it.”

 

_\- coffee shop -_

“You know what I'm about to say, don't you?”

“Get stuffed.”

Arnold Rimmer sighed and shook his head. He was leaning on the heavy bookshelf crammed between the breakroom fridge and the bathroom door, looking nonchalant and authoritative. He knew that because he'd practiced it in front of a mirror last night. “That's no way to talk to your supervisor. I could lodge another complaint with the Big Boss, you know.”

“And Holly would ignore it. Get off it, _Arnie_. You're only shift supervisor 'cause you've been working at the same bloody coffee shop for ten years.”

“Well, and so what? You've been working here a month. Last in, first out, Listy. And you know I can't let you work in that shirt. Some of those stains are from last _month_. We run a first-class, high-end--”

“--jumped up corner diner with overpriced coffee, undercooked jam tarts, and a selection of soups that make cup noodle sound tempting.”

“I'm not telling you again, Listy. Either that shirt goes or you do.”

Lister's squirrely face screwed up, lip curled, bows knitted – a look Arnie savoured. There's only so much Ironballs Rimmsy one man could take before he gagged.

To his dismay, the expression cleared. Lister slipped the apron strap over his head, pulled off the dappled dishcloth he called a shirt and threw it in the corner. Then the man actually redonned the apron and strolled out into the front, where Kryten was holding up the fort against an onslaught of one customer.

Later that day, Arnie made sure to hang up a new hand-written note in the backroom door that said, in large red capital letters, 'NUDITY IS NOT AN OPTION'.

 

_\- you've got mail -_

**You are now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!**

**You both like lesbians.**

**You:** f 25 earth

 **Stranger:** F 18 Io

 **You:** nice

 **Stranger:** My breasts are heavy and soft and I'm wearing a pair of red crotchless panties.

 **You:** smeg ur a bloke

 **Stranger:** I am not! I am a nubile and VERY female sex kitten.

 **Stranger:** I love strawberries and whipped cream and taking it up the bum

 **Stranger:** It being a dildo because I'm a ruddy lesbian!

 **You:** ok ok

 **Stranger:** I know who Gertrude Stein was

 **Stranger:** I wear trouser suits to work, but my underwear is all lace.

 **Stranger:** How do I know YOU'RE not a bloke?

 **You:** Gertrude Stein (February 3, 1874 – July 27, 1946) was an American writer of novels, poetry and plays. Born in West Allegheny (Pittsburgh), Pennsylvania and raised in Oakland, California, Stein moved to Paris in 1903, making France her home for the remainder of her life.

 **Stranger:** Did you just copy-paste that from a dictionary?

 **You:** look u wanna cyber or not

 **You:** my smeghead bunkm8's away on some field trip, there's a porn blocker on this entire smegging ship

 **You:** & I've got lager, an imagination & a massive erection so

 **You:** u there?

 **Stranger:** Listy?

**You have disconnected.**

 

_\- soulmates -_

On a ship of thousands, there's always somebody whose counter's approaching zero. The day it was Dave Lister, he told everyone. In fact, he'd been telling them for days. He knew exactly who it was going to be, even though Kristine Kochanski was one of those people who put duct-tape over their soulmate marks because 'the soulmate system is more of a guideline', 'society puts too much weight on what is basically an arbitrary bio-psychological compatibility' and something about free will.

 _Technically_ they had met before, but Lister was sure that her addressing a room with him in it didn't count as a first meeting. He'd taken care not to talk to her himself until the time was right. Chen and Petersen, who had timed their stopwatches to the second, were standing sentry duty behind a chicken soup dispenser at the end of the hall. She'd be coming down this way any moment now, on her way to her station, and he'd be right there to say his first words to her just as the counter hit zero.

Dave checked his inside wrist. 00:00:45.

“What are you goons doing lurking about in the hallway? Kindly move along. You're obstructing an officer about his duty.”

00:00:36. Dave screwed his eyes in Kristine's end of the hallway, ignoring the scuffle behind him.

“Go away, Rimmer. It's Lister's soulmate day.”

“It's mine, too, but you don't see me making a fuss. Oh God, he's filthy. Hey, you! I've been looking for you. David Lister? You're assigned to my detail.”

00:00:01. “Would you shut the smeg up?” Lister shouted, twirling around to see the tall, curly-topped, flared-nostril length of yogurty officiousness behind Chen and Petersen's shocked faces.

He whipped back to Kristine's corner of the hallway.

She wasn't there.

Lister checked his wrist. His counter stood still at 00:00:00.

“Did you hear me? We're due to a round of maintenance, decks 50-90. Come on.”

He was going to need some duct tape.

 

_\- soulmates: the sequel -_

“Are you quite sure, sir?” asked Kryten. “Only there are quite a few GELFs out there. Quite a few rather large and angry GELFs. Some of whom seem to have suckers with teeth at the end of their tentacles. And this is _Rimmer_ , sir.”

“We're going to have to.”

“Sir...”

“Kryten, he's my smegging soulmate, all right? He doesn't know it, or he pretends he doesn't, but I know it. Of course we're smegging saving his life.”

Lister groaned at the look on Kryten's immobile face. “I know. I know! What does it say about me that my pre-destined perfect match is some pissy bureaucratic coward who'd sell out his own country for a promotion and throw in his grandmother for a pat on the back?”

“Actually, sir,” said Kryten, “I was wondering what it says about _him_.”

Another laser-blast ripped into the 40-foot steel statue of Mickey Mouse they were hiding behind. “All right, all right.” Lister grabbed his miniature missile launcher and pulled his hat lower on his head. “Let's show these smeggers how it's done.”

 

_\- wingfic -_

Arnie opened his mouth, reconsidered, cocked his head, and walked around Lister one more time.

Lister spread his hands. “Come on, get it over with.”

“So you're the God of the cat people, you go away to stay on their planet for a couple of days, and now you have _wings_.”

“It's a long story.”

“It must be. Does it have anything to do with all those clawmarks?”

“Look, I can't tell you what happened. I can't! It's just not done. All you need to know is I've got wings now, I can't wear flip-flops, and on Tuesdays I'm going to need fishfood. All right?”

“It's hardly the weirdest thing that's ever happened to him, sir,” Kryten pointed out.

“All right, but if Tweety-Bird starts to molt, I'm cooking him for Christmas dinner. I'm not gonna have feathers strewn all over my workspace.”

The Cat stared at Lister from the top bunk, clutching the edge, with a strange new hunger glinting in his riveted eyes.

 

_\- Canadian shack -_

The wind was howling outside. At least Lister hoped it was wind, and not the house-sized GELF wolf sniffing out their blood under the piles of snow. The snowbanks had risen to the level of the windows, but the chimney wasn't blocked yet, judging by the fire leaping high to lick at the stones of the fireplace.

“We are going to die here, aren't we, Listy?” said Rimmer quietly. His arm was bandaged up and his forehead was clammy, though the wound couldn't be infected, not yet. It was too fresh. The eerie thing was that Rimmer had hardly complained at all since Lister had half-dragged him into this cabin.

“Nah. No way he's finding us before morning. Kryten'll be back then.”

The cabin's one mattress had been stiff with ice when they'd arrived and was taking its time thawing, propped up near the fire. Rimmer was making use of their one inflatable mattress, lying under both their jackets and one blanket while Lister sat one a stool by the fire and warmed his toes in a pair of thermal socks.

“You've... you've been a good friend,” said Rimmer. “Better than I deserved. I want you to have my books, my diary... my console...”

Lister wondered who else would even want them. “Shut the smeg up, Rimmsy. We'll be all right. Like always.”

“Not always! I died once, you know!”

“You're still banging on about that?”

“For God's sake!” Rimmer sat up, throwing off a jacket. “I'm trying to have a moment here, you ungrateful, dissolute Scouse spongebucket!”

Lister grinned. “There's our Arnie. Feeling better?”

Rimmer glared at him, then lay back down and turned away, pulling the jacket over himself in one angry motion.

Lister finished his ciggy in peace, flicked it into the fire and crawled up under the jackets with Rimmer. He aligning his body along with Rimmer's, throwing one leg over his long shanks.

“What the--?”

“Shh. Body warmth. 'Cause I'm a good friend.”

It took Rimmer a full thirteen minutes before he relaxed with a sigh.

The wind outside picked up as the GELF fleet's ground-ships closed in on the frozen treetops.


End file.
